


don't blink, or I might disappear

by Pentri



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Canon Divergence, Cultural Differences, Depression, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Suicide Attempt, The Hargreeves (Umbrella Academy) Need a Hug, family trauma, five and reader are eighteen, let's stop the apocalypse, reader almost gets married, reader is here for fluffy times, the apocalypse takes longer to happen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:28:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28718079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pentri/pseuds/Pentri
Summary: Where a new addition to the Hargreeves family changes the lives of everyone involved, for better and for worse.Meet Number Eight: The Soul
Relationships: Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy)/Original Character(s), Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy)/Reader, The Hargreeves (Umbrella Academy) & Original Character(s), The Hargreeves (Umbrella Academy) & Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 56
Collections: Angry teen is soft for s/o





	1. Chapter 1

November 1996

You were quite sure that you had never seen a house as calculating as the Hargreeves mansion.

Every object was meticulously placed. The chandelier sat directly above the middle of the foyer. Not a single book was missing among the walls of bookshelves, arranged by height and genre. Each tile on the shiny floor had been cemented down at an exact ninety-degree angle. Every object was in its place for a reason; it worked as a cog in a great machine to serve a purpose.

A brief image flickered to life behind your eyes. Your mother and you were sweeping dust off the floors. She had suddenly dropped the broom to hold you in her arms. Your existence hadn’t needed a purpose when she hugged you tightly, cheek pressed against the crown of your head. Now, you were a cog in a machine, serving a purpose, like the decorative paintings that lined the walls.

When the monocled man who you had followed spoke, he spoke in your mother tongue. It sounded harsh, like the scraping of a pestle against a mortar, not melodic like it was supposed to, not familiar like the lips of your mother and father. His face betrayed no emotion, no sympathy, no weakness. Instead, his expression remained cold and aloof and the hairs on your arm bristled.

_“Welcome to the Umbrella Academy.”_

\--

First impressions were less than ideal.

Introductions were awkward and strained, making your hope to fit in shrivel up. You could feel that you were unwelcome and that stung. The moment you stepped foot into the mansion, another equation was introduced. A complex equation that the Hargreeves children had to understand before they could upgrade the working group.

One and Three didn’t have much patience to solve a new equation. One, with brilliant blonde hair and Two, with a smile that could command turn all eyes in the room to her. They would much rather focus on things they understand. If you had been able to speak English, you would have told them that you were just human, same as them. Alas, your argument fell on deaf ears. You, short and small and mousy as you were, was not deserving of their attention.

Although, Three had to admit she was happy another girl had come to the house.

Two cared more about your trouble with English than anything else. No longer was he the stuttering mess, the butt of the joke. Who were his siblings to make fun of him when there was you?

If Mom could hear his thoughts, she would be disappointed.

Four and Six were curious, but unsettled too. Your brown eyes looked wary but kind. Where did you come from? Why didn’t you arrive as a baby? Did you have powers like them? Your mystery was one they were eager to solve, like their favorite Ghostbusters movie. It was scary meeting new people, but Four and Six wanted somebody else to talk to other than Five and Seven.

Five, with all the hubris a seven-year-old could muster, concluded that you weren’t much to look at. He stared at you until you looked up, chocolate brown eyes meeting sea blue. Your features were sharp, nothing like the chubby-faced dolls that Three played with. You blinked, long eyelashes fluttering, once, twice, and then lowered your gaze to the floor again. He was eager - no, more than eager - to pick you apart and find out what made you tick.

Seven was surprised. You appeared more meek and demure than her. Your brown hair was braided into two thick pigtails, She found herself wondering what your role in the house would be. Silently, she dared to hope that you would want to be her friend.

And so, you were introduced to the system as a new part.

\--

Dinner was another hurdle. A large plate, filled with unknown food sat before you, accompanied by silver tools. With the ring of a bell, everyone sat down to eat. You sat on the floor, careful to cross your legs.

The children stared at you with mixed expressions of annoyance and curiosity. You stared back, trying to understand their confusion. Your family at home ate on the floor.

A grunt of annoyance came from the monocled man. He barked out an order in English.

A slender young woman with blonde hair and a dazzling smile appeared. You hadn't noticed her before. Before you could react, she scooped you into her arms and placed you in one of the chairs. You went rigid at the contact, wary of this stranger.

Everyone else began to eat, cutting into the meat and stabbing vegetables with ease. What were you supposed to do now? Tentatively, you reached for a piece of potato with outstretched fingers. You had almost eaten it when a sharp voice interrupted.

 _"What in the world are you doing?"_ Guiltily (although, you didn't understand where the guilt came from), you dropped the potato. It landed in your lap. 

_"What can I eat with?"_ You gestured at the silver tools, placed on either side of your plate. You knew that nobody else except for the monocled man could understand you. 

"Grace," the man switched back to English. "Show her how to use the utensils."

The children's eyes widened in surprise when they realized what had happened. Klaus resisted the urge to giggle. Laughter was not allowed at the dinner table. Tiny hands picked up a fork with fumbling fingers and picked up a piece of meat with Grace's help. When Grace directed it to your mouth, however, you stopped her hand.

"No," you spoke in English. You knew this word, from the cartoons you watched every morning. Grace frowned, gently pushing the fork back.

"No!" Your protest was louder this time, and you smacked the fork away. 

"Number Eight!" The monocled man's words were lined with anger. Everyone held their breath when he spoke. "What is the problem?"

Five observed your face when you pouted. Your thick eyebrows furrowed and the bridge of your sharp nose scrunched right up. 

"No meat," you explained the best you could in English. On the second word, your voice wavered, unsure if you pronounced it right. The monocled man sighed, his disappointment evident.

"If you cannot eat the food provided, then you will not receive any food," he declared. You didn't understand a word of what he said. "We must familiarize you with the English language, as well. Your studies will begin tomorrow. Grace, escort Number Eight to her room."

You were led away from the food by the blonde woman, away from the judgmental stares and barely contained confusion. You walked up two flights of stairs and down a long hall with many doors. At the end of the hall, you were directed to a small room, with one window and a small bed. There was no other furniture, save a small desk tucked away in the darkest corner of the room. With a hug and a smile, you were left there to ponder how your first day had gone so wrong.

Slowly, you began to sniffle when your stomach growled. You missed your home and your family. Your whole world felt turned upside down and wrong by just standing here, in this cold mansion where the children were strange and where the food was inedible. Even the temperature was wrong, much colder than the stifling heat you were used to at all moments of the day.

Your pitiful thoughts were interrupted when the door to your room squeaked, opened slightly by a figure standing in the doorway. Carefully, one of the boys you had met before made his way into the room, something round clutched in his hands. Was he Number Six? Or maybe, he was Number Four. You couldn't remember.

You were surprised to find that an apple was thrust into your lap. The boy looked wary, not sure of your reaction. You felt a smile creep onto your lips and quickly, you took a bite. It didn't do much to ease your hunger, but at least it was something. An olive branch, extended by a boy you knew no better than any other child. 

The boy smiled back, and for the first time upon your arrival, you allowed a small flower to blossom from the palm of your hand.


	2. Chapter 2

November 1997

Learning English was grueling, as you soon discovered. One year of intensive language learning, and sometimes it seemed like you were no better than the day you started.

Every day was a never ending series of pronouns, verbs, nouns, and silent letters. Sir Reginald had insisted that you must speak English at all times to "further your understanding of the language" as he put it. Grace, your new teacher and mother oversaw these lessons with a gentle hand, never disappointed when you stumbled on words from a toddler book. When you read one sentence correctly, she would reward you with a gleeful smile and clapping hands. 

You didn't know how to react to her encouragement. She wasn't your real mother, no matter how she tried to act the part.

To her credit, she tried to make life as comfortable as possible. After you complained about the food during the first night, Grace made sure to separate a vegetarian dish for you. When you weren't able to sleep in the constricting regulation pajamas, Grace had ordered a nightgown. If you ever had a question about life in the States, she would be ready to answer.

She tried, and it made you feel guilty that you could so easily reject her love. 

You and Four continued your small friendship since the night he gave you that apple. He loved the flower crowns you would make for him, adorned with flowers native to your home. Six was never far behind, and dutifully, you made a matching flower crown for him too. Four dubbed himself the "Flower King" and would leap from sofa to sofa in one of the many living rooms. You would laugh - really laugh - for the first time since you had arrived. Unfortunately, Six was named the lesser "Flower Prince" and started a fight with Four over his title.

Six was a gentle soul, always ready to put out fires before they started. When the fight concerned Four, however, he chose to dive in rather than keep away. You didn't know why these two gravitated towards you, or rather, to them. 

Amidst their bickering, you grabbed a stray rose off the floor and concentrated. It was originally pink, but the color was quickly fading. Heat enveloped your hands and the flower began to glow. An object took shape in your thoughts, directing how the plant would transform. It morphed shape, vines wrapping around the stem and growing bigger. Within a minute, two equally thrones sat in front of you, held together by an entanglement of flowers and vines and wild grass. 

Two thrones, for two members of royalty, you explained in broken English, hoping they would understand. They did, dimples gracing the sides of Four's smile, and the arguments ceased.

The plants would die quickly, not used to the cold, but you could spend hours making more. 

The cold was one aspect of life that was not going well. The flimsy shawls and dresses you had packed did nothing against the blistering cold of early January. During lessons with Grace, you would shiver endlessly, hoping for the end so you could run to your bed and curl up underneath blankets. Three let you borrow some sweaters on one condition. You had to let her style your hair.

Nobody else would let her style their hair, she explained. The boys thought it was stupid and Seven didn't like being touched. 

"What about Four?"

"No way!" Three protested. "He's so weird, always sneaking in my room and stealing my skirts!"

Three idolized your hair like it was one of her favorite pop bands. It's so thick and wavy and _long_ , she would marvel, pulling and twisting and braiding your strands every which way. In truth, you were thinking of asking Grace for a haircut. After baths, it would dry and the tangles were impossible to get out with a brush. You winced, considering telling Three to ease up on the aggressive brushing.

Three wanted to grow her hair longer, down to her hips, like one of the French models she had been following. "I love when they turn around," she gushed. "Their hair goes swoosh! And it looks so cool." When she finished pulling your hair into a tight bun, she stood back to admire her work. 

"Can I try something?" You asked, hoping the sentence structure of your question was right. Three nodded, and turned around so you could inspect her locks. 

"You're hair is beautiful," you whispered, loud enough for Three to hear. You pressed the pads of your fingers to her scalp and closed your eyes, focusing on the buzz of energy around you. You used to do this for your smaller cousins. You pushed energy through your finger tips and into her follicles.

Three gasped when she saw herself in the mirror. Her brown coiled hair now reached her hips, just like she had dreamed. She tugged on the strands, wondering if it was a trick. When she realized it wasn't, she threw her arms around you in joy, murmuring thank you's.

"Hey, can you do that for me?" Four peeked around the side of the door, looking at the two girls expectantly. 

\--

In his typical obstinate manner, Five was the last to admit that you smarter than you looked - much smarter. Your eyes betrayed much more curiosity and passion that you let on in your words and actions. You weren't aggressive, like himself or One or Two. You were mellow and calming, which is why intelligence was not often expected from you. You didn't even speak English properly!

Which is why he was furious when he lost a second round of chess to you.

Seven's quiet tittering in the background did nothing to soothe his bruised ego. _Nobody_ could beat him at chess, not even Mom. But you waltzed in, and suddenly he had a competitor. The thought both excited him and made him feel uneasy. 

"Good job, Eight," Seven spoke softly per usual, offering a small smile. A victory for you rather than for him.

Gritting his teeth, Five swept the pieces aside with his arm. You flinched as the board was suddenly thrown to the floor, pieces strewn everywhere. A pawn went flying straight into Seven's nose with an audible sound. Seven cupped her hands around her nose, tears welling up both voluntary and involuntary. 

Five froze in his spot when he saw Seven's, tears streaming down her cheeks. Without hesitation, you moved to her side, peeling away her hands to inspect her nose. There was no bleeding, just bruising, and Seven's tears wouldn't stop.

Hurt and guilt, two feelings that Five was rather unfamiliar with, blossomed in his chest. He had caused Seven to cry, and now you would swoop in and save her. It was all his fault.

Before he could leave the room, he felt a small hand tugging at his shirt sleeve. He turned around to find your expectant face staring at him. You uttered a phrase in your native language, a language that he still couldn't understand.

"She needs you too," you clarified. Seven's tears had slowed, and she too was now looking at Five, asking him to stay with her doll eyes. 

He pinched his nose (yes, that was a habit he had already developed, much to his chagrin), and sighed. It looks like he had no choice. 

He turned back and began to pick up the pieces from the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, hi, hi! Thanks for reading the second chapter!
> 
> It has taken me a long time to churn this out, but it's finally here. I'm trying to get on a more regular schedule (crossing my fingers). This chapter was short, but I promise longer chapters in the future.


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